


i’m begging you to take my hand

by littlesmalls



Category: NASCAR RPF
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, just kiss and make up, post-daytona clash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29572218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesmalls/pseuds/littlesmalls
Summary: Chase comes to his motorhome two hours after the clash with a six pack in one hand and his plea of forgiveness in the another, Ryan has to decide whether to break his pretty white teeth with his knuckles or invite him in to drink.
Relationships: Ryan Blaney/Chase Elliott
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	i’m begging you to take my hand

.

.

_ “Do you know how it ends? Do you feel lucky? Do you want to go home now?” _

-Richard Silken

.

This is a sport that is 99% heartbreak, 1% success. 

He’ll lose more races than he’d ever possibly win. 

He’ll feel the weight of defeat a hundred times before the brush of confetti on victory lane. 

He’d watch time and time again as he’s dealt a cruel hand, fate being everything but kind to him as she grants him bad pit stops, loose tires, cars that are faster than his—drivers who are better than him. 

Ryan is okay with it. He accepts it. 

If he didn’t, he’d be out a million years ago. 

Loving him is also 99% heartbreak, 1% success. 

Everyone wants a piece of Chase Elliott, so he’ll take that 1% with the most greedy of hands. 

He’s not sure if he’s okay with it, or if he’d ever accept it but it is what it is. 

So he’ll take what he can. 

And he’ll bury it so he never has to let it go. 

. 

When Chase comes to his motorhome two hours after the clash with a six pack in one hand and his plea of forgiveness in the another, Ryan has to decide whether to break his pretty white teeth with his knuckles or invite him in to drink. 

“Mornin’.”

“It’s literally almost midnight.”

“Midnight is the start of a new day, so technically ‘morning’ is an appropriate greeting.” 

Ryan steps aside, allowing him in but he still hasn’t made up his mind.

Chase sets the beer down on the coffee table before falling into his couch with a grimace. Ryan knows why. It makes his throat tight.

“I—

“You had plenty of room.” Ryan starts, still standing with his hands curling into hard fists at his side, “You weren’t going to go off the curb.”

Chase looks up at him, dark lashes hanging over his dark eyes and his mouth slopes into a frown, “We were both driving stupid. You went for the inside and I was already there.”

“You’re not going to say sorry, are you?”

“I can if it will make you feel better.”

“It won’t.”

“Well then.”

Ryan suddenly feels exhausted, a weariness settling snug over his bones and he doesn’t want to fight—not really, not at all. He pushes his hand through his hair, newly cropped locks still damp from his shower and, “You’re leaving me behind.”

Chase’s brows wrinkle, “What?”

“Nothing.” Ryan wishes he could stuff the words back into his mouth, wishes he could swallow them. 

That wouldn’t make them any less true though. 

If last season was any indication of how the rest of his racing career is going to go then he’s shit outta luck. 

But Chase...Chase _shined._

He took every obstacle, every wrong turn, every fall with grace and came back to take it all—to do the one thing that Ryan has dreamed about doing since he first watched his dad get into a car. 

And Ryan is happy for him, he really is. 

In that happiness, however, lived jealousy and frustration. 

Apart of him always knew that Chase would go on do to better than him. Maybe he knew it from the moment he first saw him: humbled by puberty but somehow possessing a quiet confidence that no thirteen year old should. 

The fucking clash was proof enough. 

He had fresh tires, he should been able to outrun him the moment he passed him, but Chase was able to keep pace. Chase was able to keep up with ease, with skill that was entirely unfair. 

And Chase wrecked him.

Wrecked him to win, wrecked him to lose. 

Ryan really does want to punch those teeth in. 

“Ryan.” Chase looks at him like he understands, “You had one bad run. That doesn’t mean that you’re not going to be good this season. You know this.”

He does know this. 

“Look at Jimmie. He won the thing seven times over and had bad runs.” Chase continues, “I won it all, and still I could never win a race again.”

“And that doesn’t scare you?”

“I mean, yeah. But that’s racing.”

_99% heartbreak,_ Ryan thinks, and _you’re never guaranteed anything._

He gives in and joins Chase on the couch, “Since they’re here, gimme one.” Ryan juts his chin to the case of Michelob Ultra.

“It would be my pleasure.” Chase grins and reaches into the case, he winces as he draws back up. 

“You sore or something?” Ryan asks, taking the beer and popping the lid off. 

Chase lifts his shirt, barring a canvas of tanned skin and sinewy muscle. Ryan’s mouth goes _dry._

“A souvenir.” He states 

Ryan’s fingers itch to touch the watercolor of blues, purple, and yellows that begin to blossom just below his rib cage. 

He doesn’t, “You bruise like a freakin’...

“Peach?” Chase supplies with a smirk, tugging his shirt back down.

“I mean you _are_ from Georgia.” Ryan replies and leans back against the couch, “What do you think people are saying?”

Chase exhales a laugh, “Oh I can imagine.”

“Maybe I’ll wreck you on Sunday and we’ll really give them something to talk about it.”

“That would be some valentine’s day gift.”

“You know I like to spoil you.”

He laughs—that low, breathy noise that catches in his throat, that makes Ryan stop and watch him—stop and drink the moment in. 

“We’re even now, by the way.” Chase’s eyes are dark but they sparkle, they hold galaxiesand all the things of somewhere beyond.

“Are you still on about Kentucky?” Ryan exasperates.

“Yes.”

“That was years ago.”

“I like to nurture my grudges.”

Ryan rolls his eyes and takes in a mouthful of beer. Chase settles into the couch with a yawn, eyes falling shut. 

“You staying here tonight?” Ryan puts the empty bottle on the coffee table, and readjusts on the couch. He absentmindedly presses his thigh against his, a quiet closeness.

“Why, you wanna cuddle?” Chase hums, eyes still closed. 

“Only if I get to be big spoon.” Ryan states dryly.

“Not a chance.” Chase opens his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin, Ryan smiles back. 

They polish off another round of beers before Chase gets up and cites exhaustion for his reason to leave. 

“Do you need me to walk you back to your bus?” Ryan looks down at him, the stairs giving him height against the taller man. 

“My knight in shining armor.” Chase tilts his chin up, giving him that white smile and Ryan decides he’s glad that he didn’t punch him. 

“Get some rest,” Ryan tells him as he steps away from the bus, “Don’t sleep on that side.”

“Aye, aye.” Chase salutes and gives him a wave before heading in the direction of his motorhome. 

Ryan watches him disappear, a familiar thread of yearning twining around his bones and making a home inside him.

This is lives somewhere between the heartbreak and success, somewhere in a place where Ryan finds some peace, somewhere that he and him both can live and be untouched by it all. 

It’s not a victory, but he’ll cherish it as one. 

.

.

.

**Author's Note:**

> i just have a lot of thoughts ™ okay.


End file.
